


creative writing dump

by kennymcshamrock



Category: South Park
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3236501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kennymcshamrock/pseuds/kennymcshamrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a lot of short stories i wrote in creative writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bedtime

Tugging his hood over his sandy blond hair, he watches as the hood hides his face, draping a shroud of mystery, anonymity, and an aura of clear conscience around him as the hood casts a dark shadow over his eyes. It hides his freckles and his doe brown eyes, replacing these infectiously charismatic characteristics with a fierce scowl, and an air of importance. Mysterion smiles at himself in the mirror, well, it’s more of a smirk, the gap between his two front teeth looking anything but menacing. He shall stick to closed mouth grins.  
With his cape billowing behind him, Mysterion takes off through the window of his one-story house, landing firmly on the ground and using the force to lunge himself forward, running down the road in the evening stiff, cold breeze. He heads towards the house of one of his fellow superhero friends, one no one likes, but has the biggest basement so they all have to put up with him anyways. What a shame. The ten year old vigilante knocks on the front door, and is let in, and he scrambles down the stairs, peeking a little ahead to see who is attending their super secret meeting.   
Human Kite is there, Coon is there, Mosquito is as well. Mysterion counts off heads and notices only one is missing. Tool Shed. The name is somewhat befitting of the boy behind the mask, in Tool Shed’s case, because he’s, to put it simply, a tool. The boy holds back a grin, biting his lip, and replacing it with a smirk as he saunters into his place at the meeting table.   
“Where’s Tool Shed?” he says in his best Batman imitation voice. He watches the other heroes look around at each other before rolling his eyes. No one took this game very seriously besides him, because it wasn’t a game to Mysterion. That’s another story though. Mysterion perks up when Kite speaks.  
“Dude, he’s grounded.” The hero in the ridiculous turquoise outfit says, shrugging with a wry grin on his face. He watches as the boy fidgets with his hands, lost without the aforementioned ‘grounded’ superhero.  
“He like, didn’t do his homework and got a bad grade on the spelling pre-test and his mom went bonkers. He can’t make it.” Kite drums his fingers on the table, his grin turning apologetic.   
“He can’t do anything right, doesn’t he know we really needed him in our battle with the Professor today?” Mysterion says, his tone acid, meaner than it should be to one of his closest friends. There isn’t much time left- merely a few hours.  
“It’s not his fault, alright?” Kite says, clearly getting a little ticked off with the questioning.   
“If it bugs you so much we can stop by his house and see if he can play?”  
Mysterion rolls his eyes, and groans. He looks around at the other heroe who are dawdling on their iphones and muttering amongst each other, messing around like they don’t have a very important battle in ten freaking minutes.  
“It’s on the way to Chaos’ lair anyways, we can just make a quick stop!” Kite says, like he was planning this from the beginning. Everyone murmurs in agreement, and the vigilante is sure he can hear The Coon mutter something along the lines of ‘Let’s get this show on the road already.’   
It’s not Mysterion’s fault they’re all incompetent, but he just shrugs and starts to go out the back way, through the basement door into the backyard. They always travel through backyards, it’s more convenient this way.   
Ten minutes later, Kite is throwing rocks at Tool Shed’s window, and a groggy black haired boy makes himself known, blinking down at the group of children from his class sleepily.   
“What’s up dudes?” he murmurs, holding his head in his hands as he yawns.  
“Dude, tell everyone you’re grounded so we can go fight Professor Chaos already.” Kite says, his voice snappy and short with the other boy. He crosses his arms.  
“I’m grounded, guys, really. You’re gonna have to do it without me-- don’t you guys have curfew in a few minut--” Tool Shed says before he’s cut off by Mysterion.  
“None of your business, go back to bed you Tool.” he growls, and watches Tool Shed’s face turn into a scowl, pouting.  
“Ky-- erm, Kite. Do you want to spend the night? These guys are a bunch of losers anyways.” Tool Shed says in retaliation, knowing that Kite can’t say no. He watches the boy light up with the offer.   
“Dude yeah! Can I come up?” Tool Shed nods, and Mysterion watches in pure disbelief as the superhero outfit-clad boy opens the screen door and heads into the offender’s house without so much as a good bye.  
Mosquito looks at his watch and decides to pipe in for the first time since the meeting started. He clears his throat.  
“Uhhh… sorry but it’s my bedtime.” he says in his annoying, nasally voice. No one really likes him either. His voice is usually nasally but with the freaking funnel on his face to serve as a ‘mosquito nose’ it’s only increased ten-fold. He sounds like he has an eternal, major sinus infection. It’s equal parts hilarious and infuriating, and at this moment Mysterion is infuriated. He knew it was bedtime! So Mosquito didn’t need to bring it up. The rest of the heroes start to talk and disperse amongst themselves as well, because well, bedtime. You can’t argue bedtime. A few seconds later, Mysterion is left alone in the backyard of a horrible superhero. He grunts, and rips off his mask. So much for superhero battles.   
He kicks at the ground and slowly starts to make his way home, running a hand through his greasy blond hair.  
On the other side of town, Professor Chaos waits anxiously all night in his lair for the superheroes to beat him up.The time never comes, and Chaos doesn’t make it home for curfew. He’s grounded, which Mysterion thinks may be a small win for Coon and Friends in itself.


	2. grounded

“Oh, so, you can’t come over then?” Kenny says, balancing his Walmart Tracfone on his shoulder as he opens the fridge, frowning as he grabs the almost empty jug of milk.  
“No, I’m sorry.” Sounds the other side of the line, and Kenny wrinkles his nose. He takes a swig of milk.  
“But you said you’d be able to.”  
“I’m sorry, really.”   
“Ugh, what happened?” Kenny looks at the milk, it’s expired. Too bad he doesn’t care like, at all. He presses the jug to his lips, angrily chugging down the rest of the jug.  
“Are you drinking something?” Sounds the boy on the other line. Kenny chokes on his milk.  
“Milk.” Kenny says, milk spilling down the corner of his lips, onto his shirt.  
“Oh, neat um.” The voice on the other line says, hesitating. Kenny can hear him take a breath, and he waits, wiping at his shirt.   
“Get on with it, dude. Spit it out.” Kenny deadpans, his mood tense and not exactly pleased. He was going to take his little blond friend to McDonald’s.  
“I was thinking maybe you could come over here, or something?” The boy says, and Kenny perks up.  
“Like, I could leave my window open or something.”  
Ah yes.  
Kenny places the jug on the ground by the overfilled trashcan, sighing loudly into the speaker of his phone. He would say this is wasting his minutes, but it’s not. He can imagine his little friend anxiously waiting for his answer, most likely locked in his room. Kenny smiles to himself and sighs, leaning against the fridge.  
“Huh. Uh, alright then. I’ll be right there.”   
Kenny grabs his coat and heads out the door, his rotten old sneakers carrying him across the tracks, across the street, and into the suburban middle class neighborhood of this dingy mountain town. Kenny pauses, looks at the worn bottoms of his sneakers, and is comfortably familiar with the way his heels feel as if they are almost connecting with the concrete itself, only separated by less than a centimeter of worn rubber. This is what he has known. When he looks right, he sees the destination: his blond boy’s house.   
Almost on cue, a fluffy head of blond hair is leaning out the window, waving, smiling.  
Kenny waves back, with a grin.  
“Hi,” the boy breathes.  
“Hey there.”  
“So um, the terrace? Climb the terrace?”  
“Like Romeo and Juliet?”  
“No silly, like, um. Just climb the terrace please.”  
“Alright, okay.” Kenny says, and smiles.


	3. super best spouses

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”  
“Dude! Of course.”  
“I just get nervous sometimes.” Kyle shifts under the blankets, facing his best friend.  
“You really don’t need to be,”   
“But you’re so cool, and like, sporty and stuff.”  
“You’re cool too? Why don’t you think you’re as cool as me?” Stan reaches under the covers, clasping Kyle’s hand in his own, frowning.  
“I have diabetes and kidney problems and also I can’t throw a football to save my life,” Kyle says. Stan rolls his eyes and squeezes Kyle’s hand.  
“Dude, I have like, asthma. You’re super cool.”  
“Easy for you to say! Wait ‘till high school, I’m scared you won’t give me the time of day.”  
That was enough for Stan to shoot up, looking down at Kyle intensely, his frown serious.  
“That’s so dumb, Kyle. You’re like my super best friend in the whole entire world, I’d Never forget about you.”   
“Yeah, okay,” Kyle says, unconvinced. Stan sighs, and flops back down next to his friend.   
“We can make a promise, see? Give me your pinky.”  
“What are we now? Girls? Pinky promises, Stan, really?”  
“Dude, shut up and give me your pinky.”  
Kyle hooks pinkies with Stan, acting like it’s a huge deal, his red fluffy hair all spread out on the pillow, looking generally relaxed, maybe a little sad.  
“Now, I promise, for the rest of the eternity of forever and ever to be Kyle Broflovski’s very best super best friend,” Stan says, a little too loud. Kyle shushes him.  
“Now you have to say it too dude.”  
“Fine,” Kyle says. “I, Kyle Isaiah Broflovski, pledge to be Stan’s super best friend forever.” Kyle smirks, and kisses Stan’s ring finger.  
“Until death do us part!”  
“Dude! I didn’t mean it like a marriage proposal!” Stan says, and even in the dark, Kyle can tell his cheeks are red.  
“Well! That’s sure what it sounded like.”  
“Jeez, well, I guess we’re best friend married then?”  
“Yeah dude, that’s exactly what we are.”  
“So you’re not scared anymore?”  
“Nah, You’re stuck with me for life now, see?” Kyle wriggles their pinkies together.  
“Mhm.”


	4. red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some sort of speakeasy w drag kyle and stans flustered

I don’t know how I got here, well, that’s a lie because I do. It’s just ludicrous and out of my usual character. One of my acquaintances that I’m afraid couldn’t call my friend, as that would be far too generous, has instructed me to meet him at this certain bar at 10 o’clock Friday evening. I had arrived two hours too early, much to my frustration and disappointment. Which is why I am currently sitting at this bar, sipping club soda with a certain disdain in my gut. The bar itself is actually rather fancy, a sort of high class luxury I would never think to go to all on my lonesome. My eyes peruse the bar’s attendees, all these lavish souls laughing in their haughty, tinkling tones, their glamorous outfits intimidating me. I look down.  
Then I look up. In front of me, or rather next to me, is not my acquaintance like I was expecting, but actually the most beautiful person I have ever had the pleasure of even glancing at in my entire life. Sporting a head of red hair, she smiles. By red, I don’t mean just red. This particular shade is something I have never quite experienced in all my life. It’s beautiful, it’s breathtaking, I have forgotten to breathe.  
I take a breath.  
“Hello, dear.” she says. I feel my cheeks flush, and my eyes catch hers. There’s a spark.  
I’m so glad I looked up.


	5. ruby red pumps

“Hey Wendy?” Bebe asks, rolling over onto her tummy on her bed. She kicks her legs, sighing as she looks down at the girl on the ground beneath her. Wendy is her very best friend, and probably the prettiest girl she knows. With straight black hair, and big brown eyes, she is almost taken breathless when Wendy smiles at her.   
“Yeah?” Wendy answers, not really bothering to pay much attention to Bebe, studying for her AP Calc test instead, chewing on her lips and biting her nails as she runs through formula after formula, working out difficult mathematical equations.  
“I was just wondering if you knew about that red string theory? You know, the soulmate one?” Bebe implores, her hand ghosting around her ring finger. The theory, or rather, the romantic ideal that two people meant to be together were tied together by an invisible red thread, and no matter how tangled that thread may be, in the end they will meet. That’s how Bebe feels about Wendy. Like she’s made to be her best friend, and to be here, right here on her bed, watching her stress out over an AP exam. This is where Bebe feels the most at home and she loves it.  
“Of course I know about it Bebe, that’s just a ploy. An idea made up by people who think you need to have a soulmate to survive. It’s dumb, really.” Wendy says, flipping her hair as she glances up at Bebe.  
“Why?” she asks.  
“I was just thinking about it. I’m gonna paint my nails now, kay? I’ll do yours too.” Bebe hops off the bed and grabs a box full of nail polish, digging her way through until she finds her favorite bottle, the “China Glaze” brand, the red sparkly ‘Ruby Red Pumps’ color. She starts to paint her toes, her heart only feeling a little crushed at Wendy’s harsh answer.  
A few moments later, Wendy clears her throat, and Bebe looks up.  
“But, if I did believe in that junk.” she starts, twirling a dark lock of pretty hair around her finger. She looks at Bebe, smiling.  
“Then we’re definitely soulmates.”  
Bebe laughs, and spills nail polish on the bed. Wendy grins, and they look at each other in the eyes, deeply, knowing


	6. sharpie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kyle hits bicycle rider stan with his car and stan doesnt die

It has been a long day at Kyle’s law firm, boring and monotonous. Eight hours of answering phone calls and listening to whiny white people complain about slipping in parking lots. That was Kyle’s magnum opus, accident lawsuits. His Dad has done the same, and it just so happens Kyle was pretty into the same thing. Anyways, Kyle climbs into his brown Ford Focus, breathing in deeply. He always keeps a ‘new car scent’ air freshener hanging from his rear view mirror, so no matter how gross his car gets with fast food wrappers and paperwork, at least it always smells nice.   
Turning the key to the ignition, Kyle flinches as his car radio is far too loud, blasting some Taylor Swift song that he definitely knows all the words to. It’s just not helping his migraine. With ‘style’ turned down, Kyle puts his car into reverse, yawning heavily. His eyelids are so heavy, they want to close. It’s been such a long day. He leans behind him and backs out of his parking space. It’s pretty nice, since the parking space is his, with his name on it and everything.   
Once the car is in drive and his heat is blasting, Kyle is driving fast down the wooded freeway on his way back home. He always takes the forest path, he knows it the best. It only takes a switch to the jazz station and the lull of the heat before Kyle’s nodding off. How dangerous. It’s only like, five in the afternoon he should not be this sleepy, but he is.   
He lets his eyes slide closed just for a second when he hears-- and well, feels-- a very large.   
THUD.  
Kyle’s eyes snap open and he veers off to the side of the road, to a screeching halt.   
“Oh my god,” Kyle gasps, frozen with his hands in a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel as another person twitches on the hood of his car.   
Kyle just hit someone with his car. His heart feels like it just stopped. After a very slow few seconds, Kyle unbuckles himself and flings himself out the door. There is a boy laying on the hood of his car, a bike all smashed up in the ditch.  
“Are you alive?? Are you okay, I’m so sorry. So so sorry, sir.” Kyle babbles, starting to cry. The other boy slowly sits up on the hood of Kyle’s car, groaning and looking woozy. He shakes his head, wincing, and looks miserably over at Kyle. Kyle rushes to his side, weeping.   
“I’m-- fine, dude,” The boy says, forcing a smile. Kyle sobs, and takes the boy’s hand. The boy hisses through his teeth and winces. Kyle promptly drops the arm, which flops lifelessly down onto the hood of the car. The other boy cries out in pain. Kyle cries harder. The boy rolls his eyes and attempts to get Kyle’s attention.  
“Um, hey, please stop crying.” The boy says, and taps on the hood of Kyle’s car. Kyle looks at him, his eyes full of fear.   
“I’ll call an ambulance or-- or something. What’s your name?” Kyle wheezes, flipping out his phone. He drops it on the ground, because he’s shaking so hard. The other boy jumps off the hood of the car and winces, then bends down to pick up Kyle’s phone with his opposite hand. Then he hands it to Kyle with a little smile. Kyle fumbles with the phone yet again and blinks at the boy, shell shocked.  
“My name’s Stan,” Stan says, as he eyes Kyle, who is breathing heavily and looking stained. Kyle’s a pretty boy with curly red hair and a big nose. Stan thinks he’s charming. He straightens himself up from his crouching position on the ground and stretches. He looks at the hood of Kyle’s car and winces again, but this time not from pain. His body made a dent in the hood of Kyle’s ugly Ford Focus. He runs a hand through his dark hair and sighs. What a mess. Stan looks over at Kyle who is just standing there, stupidly.  
“You uh, don’t need to call the hospital or anything,” Stan says, except he’s holding his hurt arm against his side. Stan kicks at the ground, dirt covering the top of his shoe. Kyle shoves his phone in his pocket and looks to Stan’s arm.   
“Can, I um?? Drive you to the emergency room at least. Your arm looks a little. Broken. Also, you probably have a concussion.” Kyle bites his lip, and peers over Stan’s shoulder into the ditch next to his parked car. The bike is destroyed, totally broken. He cautiously looks over at Stan, who is just now turning around. Stan gasps, and falls back a little bit. Kyle catches him. He’s very warm. Kyle holds him up, even though he’s heavy.  
“My bike!” Stan says, his voice struck with grief. He sort of stumbles down the ledge of the ditch, sliding, and ends up clutching his arm and making upset noises, kicking the remains of his poor, mangled bicycle. He puts his head in his good hand. Kyle leans over the edge of the ditch and clears his throat.   
“I’m really sorry about your bike, Stan, um, I’ll buy you a new one.” Kyle says, his voice careful but sure. He reaches out to lightly brush his fingers on Stan’s shoulder, and Stan turns around to look at him. He sniffs and blinks, and then puts his good hand over Kyle’s. Suddenly Stan wants to stop complaining, he must look SO UNCOOL in front of this cute boy.   
So Stan stands up and rolls his shoulders and puffs out his chest. He shrugs his shoulders and tries to look oblivious to the entire situation. His arm is clutched to his body.  
“No, dude, it’s fine. Like, it was an old bike anyways.” Stan says, feeling woozy again. Kyle makes an upset noise and motions for Stan to come up with him. Kyle is stomping around and in tears and he wants to make sure this boy is okay. Stan hobbles up the ditch with one arm, his feet getting caught in the dirt and he slips a few times, but makes it, grabbing Kyle’s hand with his good hand for help. Kyle ushers Stan into his car, telling him not to worry about the dent in the car.  
Stan lays his head on the headrest, and closes his eyes for a second. Except he knows he shouldn’t go to sleep when he’s probably got a concussion or something. So he opens his eyes again, and Kyle is buckling him in. He laughs, just a little, because it’s a sweet gesture. Kyle looks so worried and Stan feels like he’s known him his entire life. He reaches out and twists one of Kyle’s red curls around his finger. Kyle stops, and turns to look at Stan, looking confused. Stan blinks and looks at Kyle and then sort of puffs out a pained laugh, as if to blow it off with just that laugh. Stan looks down at his arm, thats looking really purple. He gulps. Kyle shuts the passenger side door, and climbs into the driver’s seat, starting up his car again.   
Kyle is no longer tired, even if he had been just half an hour ago. Now he is shaking, so so awake, and has an injured boy sitting next to him. As he pulls the car into drive, Kyle hopes not calling an ambulance was an all right decision on his part. He continues to drive on his usual path home, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the silence in the car. He gulps and decides to try and fix that.   
“I don’t see many. Bike riders, in Denver. What were you um, doing?” Kyle asks, keeping his eyes diligently on the road. The last thing he wants is an accident when he just had...well, an accident. Stan perks up.  
“Oh, I always ride my bike home from work,” Stan says, turning to Kyle with a little bit of a grin. He seems really proud of himself.   
“I like to make my carbon footprint on this Earth as light as I can, and well, I just really like biking.” With a shrug, Stan turns to Kyle with a smile. Kyle realizes he’s dealing with a hippie. He laughs a little. It’s really cute. He knows he’s probably donning a dopey little smile right now, but he doesn’t mind much. So is Stan.  
It doesn’t take long for the pair to reach the hospital, where Kyle tells Stan he simply must accompany him to the waiting room. He’s feeling attached. Since Kyle doesn’t even know Stan’s last name however, he’s required to stay in the waiting room, tapping his food anxiously while they treat Stan. He doesn’t know his last name, or his phone number. Pretty much the only thing he has that is Stan is the dent in the shape of his body on the hood of his car. He keeps an eye out for the boy to make sure he doesn’t get away. He doesn’t want to have to pull a Cinderella, except, try to match the boy to the dent in his car. That’s just ridiculous.  
Two hours later, Stan’s hobbling out of the emergency room, looking around for Kyle. Kyle immediately stands up and waves, and Stan’s entire being seems to lighten up when he sees Kyle, and vice versa. They move close to one another. Stan looks a little breathless, and his arm is in a light blue cast. Kyle looks down, and runs his hand over it.   
“I never asked your name,” Stan says, feeling a little stupid. His cheeks are red. Kyle blinks and looks up at him.  
“I’m Kyle,” he breathes, and Stan breathes out, lightly.   
“Cool.”   
“Yeah. Say, give me your arm.”  
Stan gives Kyle a look, he doesn’t get it. Kyle grins, and pulls a pen out of the pocket in his jacket, a Sharpie. He leans over and pops the cap of the Sharpie off. Then he scribbles something onto the cast.   
“I gotta go now, but um. Call me?” Kyle says, and bats his eyes, motioning for Stan to look down at his arm..  
Then he’s gone.   
Stan looks down at his arm, and then looks back up with a grin. Kyle may be gone, but scribbled on his arm in a lawyer’s handwriting is his number.


	7. forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kyle gets lost and deerstan saves him

Wandering in the forest was probably one of the most ridiculous ideas I’ve ever thought clever of me. I should've stayed at the castle, and not gone beyond the gardens, but here I am. Wandering in the thicket, shivering, and only in my nice linens, not even my play linens. Frowning deeply, I wrap my arms around myself and bid the sun to stay out just a while longer, looking around hopelessly in every direction as I wobble and stumble through the thick, dense forest, full of god knows what.  
After seconds, minutes, hours, days, who knows! I am crying and sitting underneath a rather large tree, feeling miserable and self pitying, I jolt at the sound of something peculiar. A voice. A human voice is what it seems to be, and I quickly glance up, gasping at what my eyes see, obviously I must be hallucinating.  
Before me is the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, black haired, brown eyed, and well. He only seems to be half human. Great, strong antlers rest on his head, and his lower half is that of a gentle deer. My heart stops for a second, fluttering, and I find myself speechless.  
“Who are-- What are you?” I find myself asking, my face red and my voice weak, almost gone.  
“I’m Stan. I’m ah- a faun.” the boy murmurs, fiddling with his hands, his hooves stomping anxiously on the ground, rubbing into the dirt beneath him.  
“Are you lost? What’s your name?” he asks, extending his arm out to me.  
I take it.  
“I’m Kyle.” I say, and he gasps. I wince, grabbing his hand tightly to allow myself to hoist up, stand, and look Stan right in the eyes.  
“Are you lost?” Stan asks again, his voice soft, and small, looking me right in the eyes. Nodding, I breathe out, not bothering to let go of his hand.  
“You’re, a royal, right?” he says, his eyes searching mine. I nod again. He nods back and starts to move- God, it’s strange to watch his body move. The deer legs, or rather, Stan’s legs, move naturally and swiftly through the thicket, and he seems to know his way around very well.  
“I’ll take you home, okay?” he murmurs, stopping for a second and motioning to his back.  
“I mean, if you don’t think it’s weird, I- you can ride on my back?” I don’t think Stan meant to make it sound like a question, but it was darling, and I nod, smiling. Red faced, I climb onto his back, my hands resting on his shoulders. Stan trots along a small path I hadn’t bothered to notice earlier, and it seems I wasn’t as lost as I previously thought.  
Soon I am home, and Stan is gone.


End file.
